


let's talk about sex, baby

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Bad Sex, Drunk Sex, M/M, Sex Education, dumb boys in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 16:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18450764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: Foggy wakes up alone and, based on the vague memories that immediately come back to him, he’s not surprised.“Fuck,” he groans, softly, turning onto his stomach and grabbing his pillow to shove his face in it. His head hurts and he feels nauseous and he thinks about half of that is a hangover and the other half is how fucking bad sex with Matt was.





	let's talk about sex, baby

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing this plot under another username at some point and deleted it in a fit of pique so I'm rebooting it. Don't expect timely updates! Really ever, from me, but this one's low priority.

Foggy’s too drunk, but it doesn’t really matter because Matt’s cozied up to him on someone else’s bed. Someone—okay, Foggy should probably know her name, one of Marci’s friends, red hair and a loud laugh that Matt said he liked which made Foggy think he might be going back home alone but she’s laughing in a room across the hall and Matt’s got his head resting on Foggy’s shoulder, a strong arm around him, and Foggy’s messy brain won’t let him push aside what he’s been pushing aside since basically the moment Matt smiled at him for the first time.

“I think I made a tequila mistake,” Matt murmurs, turning to rub his forehead against Foggy’s shoulder like a drunk gangly cat.

“How many shots?” Foggy asks, slumping down further.

“It defied mathematics,” Matt says.

“You mean you forgot how to count?”

Matt bursts out laughing, a sweet wheezing gasp before he sighs out, “Yeah,” and turns to hide his face in Foggy’s chest instead and wrap an arm around him. Foggy’s smiling like a hopeless idiot at the top of Matt’s head when an empty red Solo cup hits his face and he looks up to see Marci standing on the opposite wall and giving him a look that Foggy is too drunk to decipher.

He makes a face at her and she whisper-yells, “You should make out.”

“He doesn’t want that,” Foggy says, trying to be quiet but he doesn’t really have control over his voice right now.

“Are you sure?” Marci asks, dryly.

Matt shifts in his arms and says, loud enough for Marci to hear, “You guys know I’m blind and not deaf, right?”

“Sorry,” Foggy says, rubbing circles on Matt’s back. “Marci’s delusional.”

Marci snorts derisively and goes back to her friends, and Matt lifts his head just enough that Foggy can see his face. He left his glasses on the bedside table a couple of tequila shots ago and Foggy’s never seen his eyes this close before, squinting at him.

“Wanna go home?” Matt asks.

Home is just three floors up in the elevator, but one floor up and Matt is sliding a hand into Foggy’s hair—fingers catching in tangles, a little ouch but then Matt’s leaning down the half inch he has on Foggy and pressing his lips somewhere in the vicinity of Foggy’s mouth.

“Marci’s—pretty smart,” Matt murmurs.

Foggy makes a noise that was supposed to be words and kisses Matt back.

They stumble out of the elevator when it stops on their floor, stopping to kiss every few moments until Foggy’s dragging Matt into their room and shutting the door behind him.

After a moment that could approach awkward, Matt takes his t-shirt off and raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, okay,” Foggy breathes, taking his own off and tossing it aside as Matt strides forward to slide hands down his sides and kiss him roughly. It’s not good kissing, per say—not that Foggy’s had a lot of experience either way—but the drunk thing and the fact that it’s _Matt_ makes the misuse of tongue and almost broken nose forgivable as they hurry to undress and fall naked together onto Foggy’s bed.

“ _Ow,”_ Foggy says, grunting when Matt shifts and knees him in the crotch.

“Sorry,” Matt says, moving again so he’s lying next to Foggy, finding Foggy’s face with his hands and kissing him softly. “Sorry, Fog, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Foggy says, laughing. “Just don’t stop, Matty.”

Everything was kind of fuzzy to begin with but Foggy can’t focus on anything but Matt’s mouth, finding himself gasping for breath and kneeling between Matt’s legs, which are spread _wide_.

“Are we—” Foggy asks, not sure what word to use or how to use them at all, so instead he moves his hands up Matt’s thighs and then hitches Matt’s legs up, letting out a shaky breath when Matt looks surprised but immediately wraps them around Foggy.

“Are you gonna fuck me?” he asks, chest heaving.

“Are we too drunk?” Foggy asks.

“I don’t really care,” Matt says, smiling up at him. “Are you hard?”

“Definitely,” Foggy says, letting his hand drop to circle his dick like he even needed to check, like he hasn’t been hard basically since Matt was cuddling with him earlier.

“Okay, I—I mean, I haven’t like _done_ this before,” Matt says, letting his legs slide down so he can kneel in front of Foggy instead, steadying himself with hands on Foggy’s waist, “but I think we need lube.”

“I don’t have that,” Foggy says.

“Me, either,” Matt says.

“. . .let’s wing it?” Foggy offers.

“Sure,” Matt says, eagerly, wrapping his arms around Foggy to kiss him again.

*

Foggy wakes up alone and, based on the vague memories that immediately come back to him, he’s not surprised.

“Fuck,” he groans, softly, turning onto his stomach and grabbing his pillow to shove his face in it. His head hurts and he feels nauseous and he thinks about half of that is a hangover and the other half is how fucking bad sex with Matt was.

If it even _counts_ as sex—their makeshift lube choice of spit was exactly as effective as it sounds in his head right now but Matt kept insisting that they try it and insisting that it wasn’t hurting him even though he kept making these faces that really said otherwise. Foggy should’ve stopped immediately but it didn’t really matter; he didn't even get all the way inside of Matt and he stiill came in what felt like less than a minute.

And Matt didn’t come _at all_ , said he was too drunk to keep it up anyway and smiled and kissed Foggy like they didn’t just commit some kind of terrible, terrible sex crime together and turned away from him to fall asleep.

Foggy doesn’t know how they’re going to live together anymore, having both experienced this. Maybe he should just pack up his things and go, leave the city, change his name and never stop running.

He should probably get a cup of coffee first, though.

*

The second that Foggy walks into the dining hall and notices Matt, Matt’s head snaps up and he gets this awful, scared look on his face and immediately shuts his laptop and tries to shove it into his backpack, accidentally knocking it over in the process so the contents spill out over the table and onto the floor. Foggy doesn’t even know how Matt knew he was here but he obviously did.

“Jesus,” Foggy says, softly, then crosses the room to him. “Hold on, I’ll help you.”

“It’s okay,” Matt says, face bright red when he raises his head toward Foggy.

“You noticed I was here and tried to _run away_ ,” Foggy says, kneeling next to him to help him clean up. “Nothing is okay.”

“I just have to get to class,” Matt says, clearly lying.

“It’s _Saturday_ ,” Foggy says. “We’re just not going to talk about it?”

Matt’s quiet for a moment before he asks, “Do you want to?”

“. . .no, I’d rather pretend it never happened but I think that’ll be hard because I still need to wash my sheets,” Foggy says, sheepishly, but Matt’s face gets tight.

“I’ll wash them,” he says, pushing past Foggy. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Matt, wait,” Foggy says, but Matt doesn’t even turn his head and Foggy’s too fucking hungover to dramatically chase after him in front of this room full of people. Coffee. Coffee and then he’ll start packing and head for the Canadian border.

He’s pouring a cup when Marci saunters up to him—she’s so good at sauntering—and asks, leaning up against the counter, “I caught a little view of your lovers’ tiff.”

“What? What are you—we’re not—lovers,” Foggy says, startled, almost dropping his cup.

“. . .I was fully joking,” Marci says, raising her eyebrows, “but now I’m wondering whether you gave Murdock your flower last night.”

“I gave _you_ my flower,” Foggy says, frowning—pouting might be an apt word, “and I really wish you wouldn’t call it that.”

“That boy was all over you at the party,” she says. “Did you or did you not go home and take your clothes off together?”

“. . .we did,” Foggy says, sighing, not trying to deny it because he really wants to talk about it and he can’t talk to who he would _normally_ talk to because he ruined everything with his dick.

He looks up to see Marci looking at him critically.

“Why aren’t you still in bed, then?” she asks.

Foggy looks up to the ceiling for a long moment before he says, “Can we go somewhere with less people?”

“Did he like—make you pray beforehand?” Marci asks, making a face.  

Foggy shakes his head and heads for the door, cradling his coffee in his hands.

“What?” Marci asks, laughing and following him. “I’ve never fucked a Catholic guy before, I don’t know what they’re about.”

*

They find a spot outside to have a tender sharing moment under a tree, one where Marci promises not to judge him but immediately says, “You did anal _without lube_? Are you _stupid?_ ”

“Yes!” Foggy says. “Apparently!”

“You just did it dry?” she asks, wincing.

“. . .we used spit,” Foggy says.

“Spit,” she repeats, like her soul leaves her body.

“We were drunk,” Foggy says.

“ _Spit_ ,” she repeats, then grabs her purse and digs through it until she pulls out a small bottle of lube and hands it to him. “Take this.”

“You carry that around?” Foggy asks, dutifully taking it and putting it in his backpack.

“Well, yeah, because if I casually decide to have drunk anal sex,” she says, “then I’m going to do it _right_. Jesus.”

“What do I now, Marci?” Foggy asks. “Drop out, right? Disappear into the night? Emigrate?”

Marci huffs out a laugh and shakes her head.

“Do you like him?” she asks.

“A lot,” Foggy says, softly.

“Then tell him I’m coming over tomorrow night,” she says, “to sex educate both of you idiots.”

Foggy’s head immediately goes to a threesome place and she clearly sees it on him, scoffing and shoving him gently.

“ _Platonically_ ,” she says.

“Right,” Foggy says, laughing, only a little disappointed. “Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on the tumblr](http://returnsandreturns.tumblr.com)


End file.
